Sophocles once said that “whoever neglects the arts when he is young has lost the past and is dead to the future.”

If you ask me, a life without the arts is also dead to the present.

More and more lately, I have been noticing how very many nasty people seem to be out there. And I feel sorry for them. Because they seem unable to appreciate anything in their lives, save their own vitriol.

The more I think about it, the more I believe that if they had some kind of art to enrich their life, they would not only be more well-rounded, but far more pleasant to the rest of us.

And art can be anything:

Drawing and painting, dancing, composing, playing an instrument, writing, cooking, designing, pretty much any process where you’re creating something.

There is also the art of conversation, or being fashionable, or perhaps you’ve a knack with animals.

Loving others and decency can be arts too.

What I’m saying is that living your life can be an art form in itself, and that it’s possible to appreciate the beauty of pretty much anything.

There are lots of people who don’t see things that way.

I find that incomprehensibly sad.

Several weeks ago, I received a journal for my birthday. If you’re a writer, you know that someone is always going to gift you a journal. You also know that this is great because, hey, free paper!

This one was entirely blank though. I mean, no lines, dividers, nothing like that.

Since then, I’ve been pondering how in the world I am going to fill it up.

And I’ve finally realized:

I don’t need lines, or any other parameters to bring those pages to life.

They can just be filled with the beautiful things that make me, and hopefully others, happy.

Song lyrics, favorite poems, quotes, pictures, recipes, plans for writing projects…

Anything.

Any art.

Normally, I name my journals. And my car, and my desk, and my phone… you get the picture. My grandfather liked to name things too, so I send him copious thanks for this particular quirk. Because it’s fun.

This book though, just has one word scribbled on the first page:

“Essentials.”